


Complete Control

by starrylitme



Series: Cling in Despair [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Mind Control, Despair, Dubious Ethics, Hypnotism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Instability, Other, Possessive Behavior, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have your uses, and I’m only asking for a brief reprieve. Can’t you do this for me?”</p><p>It's more than just a favor and they both know it. But it does make things easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complete Control

**Author's Note:**

> This is fucked up indulgent porn. Because I need more fucked up indulgent porn set during the despair days, especially of the KamuKoma variety with all the fucked up indulgent headcanons I have.
> 
> Same verse as despondency but like, waaaaaay more venting. I should be a lot sorrier than I am right now.

Komaeda only ever comes to him when he’s desperate.

“You have your uses, and I’m only asking for a brief reprieve.” His voice is stiff with delivery, irritation over awkwardness and Komaeda doesn’t even look at him while he kneels. His frown is deep on his face, but when he finally glances up, that flicker of  _please_  is there before quickly disappearing. “Can’t you do this for me?”

So what was the reason this time, he wondered. Had  _she_  bullied him particularly hard, was he tormented by that nurse girl, did any of the other SHSL Despair that wanted him to squirm finally get their filthy, bloodied hands on...

“Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda says,  _whispers_...and suddenly Kamukura stops caring about the reason. “Do with me as you like.”

_Take control. Please._

Komaeda’s face fits nicely into his hands, cheeks soft against his palm despite any scratch of dirt or blood smearing the surface. Kamukura isn’t inconvenienced too much when he has to stoop down himself so that the two of them are close to eye-level with Komaeda a little lower. Those long, white lashes flutter, and when he meets those eyes, the gaze is already focused and rapt.

“Already,” Kamukura muses as he covers those eyes with one hand. “ _Relax_.”

 _You’re always so on edge even though you’re asking._  Komaeda flinches, briefly, and then...  _Stop thinking. Fall into my hands._

His shoulders slump, and when Kamukura’s hand pulls away, green-gray eyes are lidded and dazed with the breathing from those parted lips soft and gentle. Kamukura kisses them, suckling at the soft flesh with his mouth. They swell under his touch, and Komaeda doesn’t make noise...doesn’t even react.

“This is easier, isn’t it?” It’s less a question and more of a statement Komaeda nods along with. Kamukura trails his lips from the seam of the other’s own mouth to along his jaw. Still and so pliant, Komaeda doesn’t so much as shiver when Kamukura’s lips brush against the delicate shell of his ear. “Now undress.”

Komaeda shrugs off his jacket immediately, and Kamukura separates himself to watch as he pulls off his shirt soon after. They fall into crumpled piles, and those hands are immediate in moving to his shoes to pluck them off before going to the pants clinging tight to his hips... Kamukura made a mental  _shove_ , and the boxers came down with the jeans as Komaeda tossed everything to the side.

“Come here.” He did, easily, falling back into his arms and as docile as a trained dog. No will, just obedience. Pathetic, though Kamukura stroked his hair with the same affection an owner would have for their pet. “You want this, don’t you?”

“ _Want_...” Komaeda trails off, and Kamukura calmly explains as he continues.

“Being completely taken. Being pushed so far under you drown. But it feels nice, because you don’t have to worry when someone else is controlling you...” He brushed the hair from those blank eyes that seemed almost the color of heavy clouds. His voice trails, and then dips to dig its grip further into the recesses of Komaeda’s mind. “You just have to trust that person and become theirs. Just like what you’re doing for me right now. Isn’t that right, Komaeda?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in the agreement and Komaeda gives him a wide, dreamy smile. “I love being all yours, Kamukura-kun.”

Kamukura’s lips twisted—almost quirking. “Do you really?” when Komaeda nods eagerly, Kamukura does give a slight smile. But it fades almost instantly as he just coolly and blandly comments, “What a good boy.”

He stokes his hair, and Komaeda pushes readily back against his fingers. Kamukura tugs him into another kiss, his mouth moving hard against his—and Komaeda gasping but not fighting as his tongue worms its way inside. He’s just still at first—like he’d been earlier—so Kamukura asks again, “You want this, right?”

“R-Right...” Komaeda’s shaking a bit, and Kamukura presses closer, his lips brushing against his with the order.

“Then act like it.”

He’s a lot more eager with that, moaning shamelessly as he’s kissed. He moves with Kamukura, his arms looping around his neck and soft murmurs of his name escaping between the soft smacking of their lips. Komaeda always leans in for more when they part and Kamukura indulges him, rubbing his tongue to his—making him moan more as he nearly suffocates him with the kiss. It gets so messy so quickly, and drool is already dripping down Komaeda’s chin, saliva strands connecting their mouths when Kamukura pulls away for the last time. Yet Komaeda whines—still so wanting and trying to get more...

“Stop.” He immediately does, the wanton look drops and he’s back in his doll-like daze. Kamukura, snorting a bit at the quickness of the change, wipes the spit away from his chin as well as the rest of his damp mouth. His lips were already so much more bruised— _they’ll be so sore when they’re finished here, Komaeda might even have difficulty forming words with them_ —and Kamukura decides against giving them a break.

“Here,” Kamukura directs him to look down, which he does, and swiftly undoes his zipper. It must be his imagination Komaeda’s breath catches—though he does wonder—as he pulls out his cock, already hardening in his grip. Instinct, he thinks as he runs his gaze up Komaeda’s bare, complacent form. Taking in the bony yet still soft curves, the appealing flush on otherwise bone-pale skin. Those rosy, puffy lips parted and practically pleading for him... “Suck.”

Komaeda’s down on him before he can think twice, taking in his dick to the extent he’s able and stroking what he can’t with his hand. Impatient. And dirty.  _So lewd,_  and Kamukura knows that Komaeda would never willingly allow himself to be this shameless. Yet he could get like this as long as the pretense of hypnosis was there without so much as an order.

He wasn’t even that good at it—but he’s still so eager. Komaeda sucks him off like he’s starving and desperate—hollowing his cheeks and making all sorts of noises with half-lidded eyes and a delightfully flushed face. He even forces the shaft down his throat—moaning and _that_ actually feels  _nice_ —Kamukura can only sigh.

Komaeda has to pull off soon after even though he hadn’t reached release yet. A line of spittle connects his lips to the head, even as he’s gasping a bit for air. Then he resumes his work, and Kamukura watches intently as he makes a sharp sound in the back of his throat, sounding like a whine.

No matter how many times Komaeda’s in this position, his skill never really improves. It’s perhaps his own fault, Kamukura is sure, since he never provides guidance and is instead content to let Komaeda follow the commands on his own. But he does try his  _best_  to follow—an admittedly admirable trait of Komaeda’s that never seems to fail, that whole-heartedness to dedicate himself completely to a task. Even now, there’s no need to tell Komaeda to put more effort into it.

Komaeda’s trying to force him down his throat again, coaxing for his release and all but vocally begging for it at this point, given how his eyes were staring desperately up at him, puffy and shiny with what must have been tears. Kamukura’s eyes narrow in return and his hips thrust forward—as he expected, pale hands clasp onto those hips to keep him close and deep, rather than try and push him away as would have been a more normal involuntary response.

Komaeda does breathe harshly through his nose, even though it must be difficult with it pressed to his groin, and when he does have to pull back, to catch his breath again, the sound that escapes his throat is pleased rather than pained.

Those ardent eyes blink up at him, and Kamukura finds his fingers threading through white hair as he mutters in a low tone, “That’s enough.”

He’s still achingly hard at this point, but that’s easy to overlook. Especially in favor of how Komaeda shuts his mouth, how the brunet has to wipe drool away from his chin again, and how those doe eyes deferentially wait for any following orders he may make.

Just a tug on his wrist was enough to pull the other into his lap. Legs ended up wrapping around his waist, arms draping around his shoulder once he let go, and Komaeda barely makes any noise save for what could have been a soft, sharp inhale when he managed to settle.

He was hard. Already. Unsurprisingly.

But he was also shaking still. Just the slightest bit but enough to notice, and enough that he has his suspicions as to why. There are more bruises on him than usual, and some were a deep shade of red-purple. They were more spread out this time as well—almost like a map, only with the smeared blood cleaned off since.

Komaeda leans into his hand as he cups a delicate cheek before sliding his hand down, past his jaw and his neck. Somehow unmarred—Kamukura leaned in to rectify that, biting down without a second thought.

“Kamukura-kun...” The murmur of his name was blank, though followed by a soft ‘ah’ when he licked the wound he created, pulling back and rubbing his thumb against the mark. Blossoming but red, so it’d wouldn’t last long.  Komaeda moans. “K..Kamukura- _kun_...”

There was a tremor throughout that spindly frame as the brunet nipped along his jawline. Kamukura tightened his hold at sensing the tension that should have been utterly banished from the start.

_Be **still**._

Komaeda’s heart was pounding against his ribcage but he did manage to seize up before relaxing as Kamukura whispered the command into his ear. He didn’t even flinch when Kamukura sank his teeth into the soft, sensitive lobe, barely even making a sound.

_You’re not theirs. Not now. For this moment, you’re **mine**. Say it._

“Tell me, Komaeda.”

“I’m yours.” Said immediately and pliantly with a sigh in his daze.

Kamukura didn’t say anything. Didn’t even bother responding in any other way besides kissing him, flicking his tongue through those swollen lips and listening to the way Komaeda moaned against him. Other than those sounds, Komaeda didn’t even move much if at all through the kiss this time, even as Kamukura was thorough in his motions, not leaving one crevice untouched. There’s just the sharp inhale of breath after the brunet finally pulls back, and after that...

A smile spread across Komaeda’s lips, the blush light on his cheeks, those cheeks warm in his hands. “I love being yours, Kamukura-kun.”

“...Do you really?” Kamukura stroked the curves of his cheeks, and Komaeda melted in his grip with a contented sigh. With another adoring, glazed stare. So painfully earnest even when entranced.  

He met such a gaze easily. “Good.”

_You’re mine in a way you’ll never be theirs._

The plastic bottle is only mildly cold in his grasp as it’s pulled from his suit pocket. Even when he pulls his hands from Komaeda to unscrew the bottle, Komaeda dutifully remains in his lap albeit with that soft smile still on his face. Though Kamukura notes the flicker of recognition in his gaze as he flicks the cap off.

Normally he’d just do this himself. Slick his fingers up and tell Komaeda to be still as he pressed through his entrance. Listen to the noises he’d make and stretch where it really should have been tighter around his fingers. It’d so simple to bring Komaeda over the edge in just this manner alone. It wasn’t uncommon he just stopped here.

So he decided against it.

“You know what to do, don’t you,” he muttered into Komaeda’s ear, feeling him perk up as he slipped the open container into that loose grip, squeezing those thin fingers around it before pulling away.  He met the other’s gaze and lowered his tone. “You are to let me know when you’re ready.”

“Yes...” Komaeda squirts the oil into his palm, spreading it over his fingers rather sloppily. He raises himself up a bit, steadying himself with a hand on Kamukura’s shoulder, the bottle still in his grip. Kamukura presses a hand to Komaeda’s face, keeping his eyes on that averted glassy stare and on any change in expression the other might make once he starts fingering himself.

Komaeda hardly makes a sound as he presses the first one through, and he hardly waits to adjust before adding a second. Kamukura’s fingers stroke the underside of his chin, and he instinctively licks his lips as Komaeda lolls into his touch, eyes rolling a sigh escaping his lips. A sigh of his name. “Kamukura-kun...”

“Tell me what you want, Komaeda.”

“You,” The answer’s immediate, Komaeda’s breathing heavy and hitching as he must have dug his fingers in particularly deep. There’s a shudder going through his body, drool dripping down his chin, and he goes on as Kamukura simply wipes it away. “I want you in here—my...this.... This isn’t  _enough_...”

“Is it?” he asks, to which Komaeda shakes his head furiously, gasping with his mouth open wide. His hips jerk, hardened cock so nearly brushing up against his own, and Komaeda’s breath catches, the gasp high-pitched almost like a sharp yelp.

“I want you,” he murmurs, shaking as he keeps himself in that same place that was far too close. His buried fingers are clearly twitching inside of him with how Kamukura notes the trembling in his hand from the wavering in his wrist. “Please. I want to  _forget_ —”

Kamukura kisses him quiet, and watching that blank gaze flicker down, he takes Komaeda’s oil slick hand and wraps it around his cock. Komaeda fumbles in pouring more oil into his hand to lather him with; it’s unpleasantly cold, but he hardly minds it when there’s that idiotic smile slipping across Komaeda’s lips with a pleasant flush in his cheeks. Komaeda’s as messy as before, staining his pants with that oil, which is something he does mind a bit more even if he’s going to have to wash this suit thoroughly after this regardless.

Kamukura clicks his tongue, and Komaeda pulls his hand back. Komaeda meets his eyes, there’s a flicker of hesitation and a bit of that emptiness breaking just a bit in that expression. Kamukura mouths his command, and Komaeda practically falls into him, clinging to him tightly and closely as he clumsily takes his dick inside. It’s only by sheer luck that he does, and he can hear near laughter in Komaeda’s heavy breathing at this fact.

His control is slipping. He should rectify that immediately.

“ _Relax_ ,” he drones into Komaeda’s ear, unaffected even when an armful of this guy in his lap and with those warm insides constricting around him. He’s shushing Komaeda, fingers stroking the nape of his neck as others thread through his hair, noting the strands are slick with sweat. “Nagito, calm yourself.”

Komaeda groans, but he melts into his touch as he goes on, stroking and pressing into spots that unwind the tension in his frame from his neck to his shoulders to his waist with just the briefest brush against his hips.

“You want to forget,” Kamukura whispers, soft and undoubtedly intimate, but still sincerely meant to be comforting. “I’ll help you forget any touch that isn’t mine in this moment, Nagito. If I wanted, I could make it permanent.”

“Hah...”

“Just mine. That’s all you’d be. I wonder if I’d ever bore of such a thing. Perhaps I would.”

“Ha...ah...”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“...Mm...” Komaeda hums, pressing back into his touch as his hand cups the side of his head, over his ear. His lashes are low, the gray pools mere slivers. Kamukura kisses his temple, murmuring into the curve of his cheek.

“You’d hate it too. And won’t it be interesting how much you’ll be  _screaming_  inside when I lock you in there permanently? Would you hate me more than  _her_  if I did that, Nagito?” Kamukura’s fingers lock around that chin, the command coming out stern. “ _Answer_.”

“I don’t know...” he mumbled, low and wispy.  “I’m not sure... Maybe? Maybe not?”

The brunet rolled his hips, thrusting into him and making Komaeda inhale sharply at the sudden motion. Kamukura stroked the his cheek with the knuckles of his fingers, his dick embedding further inside of him, and just as Komaeda’s eyes roll back, he goes on.

“You won’t have to worry about anything anymore if you do. But you won’t be able to do anything anymore as well. But nothing will  _matter_  anymore either way.” Moving to tightly grip his hips, lifting him only to slam him back down, making him cry out, voice harsher, throat practically struggling, Kamukura’s sharp gaze narrowed and darkened. “It’d be a  _relief_  for you, wouldn’t it, Nagito? With time, you’d certainly stop hating yourself and just completely give in like the unbearably boring person you can be—” He stops and then pulls his hands back. With Komaeda trying to steady himself on his lap, fingers splayed onto his thighs to keep himself balanced and prevent toppling over best he could, despite still shaking so much, Kamukura says, low yet resounding to his ears. “Start riding me.”

Clumsily, Komaeda rocked his hips, panting and sucking in enough breath that his voice breaks and makes the sound come out sharply. Kamukura made sure he didn’t fall from his lap, but his hands didn’t stay steadying him for long, brushing up against him to delicately push him back in place and then pulled away so Komaeda didn’t get any extra help.

The friction burned a little—Komaeda was moving roughly and recklessly like the way someone would run across a room littered with scattered broken glass—it had to hurt but he had to move quickly to get it over  _faster_. Kamukura did reach out, brushing his fingers across Komaeda’s slick cheek, making his eyes roll over to meet his own. He stared intently, cupping that cheek and running his fingers down that jawline, and Komaeda focused, perking up alertly. Then, as though he melted through that sharp crimson-colored gaze alone, Komaeda fall back into that daze.

“Ka...mu...ku...ra...kun...”

Kamukura nods, confirming it, and that smile slips back across his face, a manic giggle escaping his lips, and he settled back onto his lap, sinking back onto his length with a pert moan. He raised himself up to slam back down, taking him in so much easier and more seamlessly. Kamukura sighs at the motion, and Komaeda keened in delight at the sound.

“ _Kamukura-kun_ ,” he says so happily, breathless and ecstatic. He bounces on his cock eagerly, steadying himself on Kamukura’s shoulders as he moved up and down, quick like before but more focused, far more pleasurable. His name is being chanted in a mantra, syllables slurring together with his moans and gasps.

Kamukura stills him, and Komaeda stiffens immediately, vacantly looking towards him for what could have been future orders or even questioning, and Kamukura makes that doll-like expression twist up in lewd, shameless gratification with a thrust upwards into his prostrate. He can practically see the stars dotting in those otherwise vacuous gray-greens, and if he looks down, he sees how vulgarly the other is leaking, his shaft swollen and rigid on the verge of bursting.

“You are not to come,” the brunet murmurs, running a finger along that length, feeling it jerk desperately to his touch, feeling Komaeda jerk along with it even as he meekly looks towards him in deference, Kamukura’s voice turning stricter, “until I do. Do you understand me, Komaeda Nagito?”

The response is immediate. “Yes, Kamukura-kun.”

“Do you?” he repeats. Komaeda nods fervently, and Kamukura’s voice drops to a lower tone. “Do you know what’ll happen if you can’t follow that simple order?”

“...Mm?” Komaeda’s lips purse without a real answer. But Kamukura already knows how he’d respond if able—with a tilt of his head, a light smile on his voice, his voice just as delicate,  _“What, Kamukura-kun?”_

“I’ll be upset.” Kamukura explains bluntly. “And I’ll perhaps reconsider touching you like this even if you crawl to me in tears and despair.”

 _“How cold,”_  that Komaeda murmurs simply as the one in front of him has a widening gaze and has his fingers dig into his shoulders. He shakes his head frantically, almost urgently as he grips hard enough to lighten his already pale knuckles. “Please.  _Please_  don’t be so cruel, Kamukura-kun.”

“But you’d deserve that, wouldn’t you?” It is cruel to ask him such things. Even as Komaeda does nod instantly without hesitation even as his expression is still troubled and upset. Kamukura still touches his cheek so gently, voice softening, “Why are you here, Nagito?”

“I need this. I need Kamukura-kun.” It’s not and has never been a mere favor, much as Komaeda tried to act like it was. He asked this every single time, and every single time, he got this answer. It’s just him being indulgent, but if Komaeda’s going to use him like this and not even be upfront about it—as understandable as it might be—it’s no issue. Komaeda doesn’t even know.

He must at least suspect it. Yet he keeps coming back, as though the risk isn’t worth avoiding. As though this is a necessity for him, almost as if...

“I’ll really lose it... if Kamukura-kun isn’t inside me...” Komaeda breathes, breaking his train of thought with a simple, sharp inhale. “I’ll lose myself. I’ll lose to them—to her. I’ll be... hers.” He moans helplessly, slamming himself down on his cock and it is a surprise as Komaeda agitatedly grits out through his teeth, “I don’t want that—I’ll hate it. I’ll hate it more than anything. I _love_  being Kamukura-kun’s, I  _want_ to be  _Kamukura-kun’s_...”

“Sickening.” Kamukura mutters darkly. “You’re absolutely  _nauseating_.”

He laughs. “Kamukura-kun is right but... But...” He pressed down, taking his dick inside greedily and completely. “I’ll make Kamukura-kun feel good all the same. I’m... I’m surprisingly good at that... Kamukura-kun will enjoy himself—I’ll make sure of it...”

He watches him with that same darkened glare, but Komaeda bounces on his dick all the same, moans shamelessly and adoring even with that emptiness—the shallowness of his expression and ardent gaze. He’s drooling too, lips slick and parted wide with those sounds, and he moves in a way that’s near rhythmically, making sure that each and every time, his dick goes in deep, that each thrust takes him inside and coaxes his body to succumb to the undeniable pleasure from that tight warmth wrapping around him like the embrace of any indulgent lover.

Kamukura could have shoved him off so easily, snapped his fingers to drag Komaeda from that daze and get Komaeda pushing him away instead in disgust. But he stays quiet, deciding against rescinding his order that Komaeda ride him to completion, and he can easily pretend that decision doesn’t come from a place that isn’t entirely vindictive and resentful.

It felt good. He knew that. He was close. He almost hated it. Komaeda looked at him with that empty, superficial reverence as though he had hung the stars and moon and spun the world beneath it. He looked at her the same way albeit begrudgingly. But he’d never smile at her while doing  _this_. He wouldn’t do this for anyone else.

_Because it’s mine. This is mine. Mine in a way it’ll never be theirs or hers._

He’s already reaching out. Komaeda whines when his dick is driven into his prostrate and then repeats the motion with a sigh of his name, drool dripping down his chin again.

_“I love being yours, Kamukura-kun.”_

**_So then why won’t you be—_ **

Kamukura pulls him in close, thrusting in deep and making the other cry out as he releases inside of him, and as Komaeda releases as well, gasping his name. Kamukura holds him wordlessly, stroking those wild white curls as Komaeda weakly wheezes over his shoulder before nuzzling back against him with a soft, far too pleased sigh. Then rocking back into him with a groan, smearing those stains between them. He squeezes still around his dick, even as it softens, as though wanting him to stay. Kamukura kisses his temple, moving down to peck the corner of his lips before wiping away the tears and drool.

Then, blankly, he orders, “Clean up the mess you’ve made.”

And Komaeda slips out of his hold so easily to do just that, lavishing his length with his tongue, rubbing it even against the stains in his clothes, groaning softly. Sucking the seed off his dick gratuitously, as though he wanted more. He must have wanted more. He mouths even at those stains so desperately.

Kamukura extends his reach to dig his fingers into his ass, the hole stretched and seeping his cum. But even with the walls slick and accepting, they’re still sensitive enough that Komaeda shivers as his fingers bury themselves in deep. They go in so easily, and that warmth, as filthy as it is, pleads they go in further.

But Kamukura pulls his fingers out instead, slick with his own thick seed.  With a hand tilting Komaeda’s jaw up, and with those pools blinking up widely at him, those stained fingers press to swollen pink lips. “Savor this.”

Komaeda opens his mouth obediently and moans as he takes in his fingers, licking them off and happily sucking them indulgently. Kamukura pulls them out and then reaches back to scoop that cum dripping from his hold before presenting more of it before Komaeda’s lips. Komaeda already opened to swallow it down, so  _insatiably_. Kamukura himself swallows as he does, and...

“Wake up, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s eyes snap open wide, realization flashing across those gray-greens like a light illuminating a previously dark room. Kamukura pulls his fingers back, all damp with cooling saliva, and Komaeda pulls himself away with another word, extending his reach to his clothes sloppily strewn about as the brunet uses those damp fingers to tuck himself back in, zipping back up.

“You were earlier than normal,” Komaeda comments, but there’s an edge to that otherwise seemingly level tone. He sits as he dresses himself, struggling a bit with pulling on his shirt, likely due to soreness and fatigue. He’s dripping onto the floor, still so messy and smearing it all regardless. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain... Still.”

He stilled when he felt the sudden press of Kamukura’s hand against the curve of his rump, how it squeezed and then wormed its way underneath, rubbing at that slick, filthy mess smeared against his skin, and how it just barely brushed over that reddened, still so sensitive pucker that earned a shiver through Komaeda’s thin frame.

Those bony hips raise, body always honest, even as Komaeda curled in on himself as fingers pressed to his entrance. Kamukura watches that calm expression twist as he pushes in two at once, easily and messily with a disgusting noise accompanying the motion.

The more vocal sounds are muffled through Komaeda’s tightly pressed together lips, and there’s a shimmer to his gaze as he finally returns the other’s stare and manages, “H...How cruel, Kamukura-kun.”

_It is, isn’t it? But a world like this one doesn’t allow for much else. Especially when..._

Wordlessly, Kamukura pulled his fingers out, licking them off himself and noting the unsurprisingly bitter taste. Komaeda kept staring, not even questioning, before slowly turning away as the brunet squeezed his shoulders tightly.

“What do you think the end result of this will be, Komaeda?” he asked, nipping the other’s ear briefly before exhaling, warming the air fanning across Komaeda’s jaw. “Do you really think  ** _she’ll_**  resist the urge to dip her fingers in something like  _this_  before twisting it the way she thinks will be the most entertaining? Is that perhaps what you’re banking on because your warped luck can make the most even out of something like  _that_?”

“Eh... Is that what you suspect?” Komaeda simply sighs. “My, despair has really turned you into a disappointment, Kamukura-kun. At this rate, I might only find use in asking you to kill me.”

He doesn’t explain past that. It’s expectable behavior, one that Kamukura could easily change if he pushed the other hard enough that all those secrets spilled out—but he’s not going to do that. He could. Just as easily as he could kill him. He won’t.

“You’re still going to return all the same.” Komaeda doesn’t deny it, reaching for the rest of his clothes, taking his coat first and holding it close to himself in a bunched up bundle. Kamukura stares then, at the slope of Komaeda’s pale neck, at the bruise planted on its side and how such a thing wouldn’t even be fully hidden by that coat. “Is that really necessary? Or are you too trained?”

Komaeda chokes on that burst of laughter in response, shoulders shaking in his loosening grip and a hand pressing to that pale face, obscuring the grin springing across those soft lips and the swirling in those darkening gray-greens.

“Hey, Kamukura-kun...” he starts slowly in a low tone of voice before pulling his arms through the sleeves of that green coat.  “You know I  _hate_  her, right? Unconditionally.  _Passionately_. More than my meager language can begin to convey on a base level.” He finished up dressing himself, slipping his dirtied shoes on with a soft laugh, before spinning around on his heel to face the brunet, smile bright and arms spread out wide. “I want her dead so badly that I feel like my life will be complete and over when she is!! But surely the ultimate hope won’t just immediately spring from the death of someone like her, right? _Right_?!”

There was a crazed sort of desperation in the edge of his question as well as in his tempestuously expectant stare. His smile was twisting, his hands beginning to shake, and Kamukura stared back dully, like all he was looking at was unpleasant scenery.

“ _Kamukura-kun_...!!” Komaeda almost sounded like he was pleading—for a second, he looked like he was pleading too. With the brunet’s continued silence and under his disdainful gaze, his arms dropped back to his sides, smile falling off his face with a near audible crack, and his own gaze darkening, lowering, and looking murkier than the polluted waters of the ruined world around them.

“I...” He was almost inaudible, voice quiet and low. “I should get going. If I’m gone for too long,  _they_  start to wonder and  _she’ll_  start to suspect...”

Suddenly, at a speed he wouldn’t have been able to make out either way, strong fingers close around his thin wrist, tugging him back into the brunet, an arm wrapping around his waist. Komaeda does say his name, draws out each syllable like it’s something he should dig his teeth into _,_ but he doesn’t tell him to let go.

Good, since he won’t. Instead he’s mouthing as the other’s jawline and neck, the taste of that mark from only a few moments prior all the headier on his tongue, as nonsensical as it was. It’s because of that unpleasant, irritating atmosphere stirred up by Komaeda’s ranting. Irritating in that it felt like he was being rubbed raw.

It was infuriating in other, more heated ways. Aggravating,  ** _frustrating_** —accompanied by a strong desire to prove a point.

The thought is as heated as everything else. And he thinks he really wouldn’t mind going another round if it’s to prove that point. It’d be easy to shove Komaeda into that nearby wall, shoving his fingers up that thin white shirt and rip away the rest, making him scream— _mine, mine, **mine**._

He lets go of Komaeda’s wrist to take his chin, tilting his face in the necessary direction and pressing his mouth hard against his. Komaeda doesn’t fight the kiss—of course he doesn’t. But he does return it softly almost tentatively.

“Kamukura-kun...” The mumble is almost soundless, but quick between kisses. “Ka...Kamu...  _Mm_...”

Desperate. He sounds almost desperate.

“This is easier, isn’t it?” Kamukura asks, low with hot breaths puffing against that supple, swollen mouth, meeting hazy, heavy grays with cold crimson. Thin fingertips touch along his jaw, and Komaeda’s darkening stare narrows.

“Why do you think I do this? It’s certainly not to  _flatter_  you, Kamukura-kun.” Those digits trace along to the shell of his ear, the shape of his hand pressing against his jawline. Komaeda’s own voice was whispery, but there was harshness to it as well. Bitter was a fine word for it. “You have your uses in some places. Overall, you’re still a disappointment.”

Kamukura doesn’t say or do anything but stroke out some of the newly formed knots in those white tresses as Komaeda presses his forehead against a broad shoulder, sighing quite heavily.

“It  _is_  easier when Kamukura-kun is in complete control. And I do wonder...” The rest slipped out, so quiet it may had been an afterthought the other hadn’t fully meant to voice, “What will  _she_ do when she finds out? How long is something like  _this_  supposed to last?”

_When it comes to that girl, the possibilities are despairingly endless. She might already know._

Komaeda’s heart is swift under his fingertips, pressing against the bruise on that thin neck. He notes the leap when he presses his lips against that pulse next. He already knows it’ll do the same when that girl commits this exact act. She’d sink her teeth in, afterwards, most likely.

“Easy, easy,” he mutters, and the tenseness in Komaeda’s stiff posture dissipates, slackening in his steady hold. The sound the other makes is soft, somewhere between a moan and a whine, and Kamukura kisses his temple, shifting to peck his forehead, and then, “This is just for the sake of relief, isn’t it.”

Komaeda buries himself further in his shoulder, shakily laughing, muffled against the fabric. “It’s supposed to be... But not everything happens as planned—I have especially bad luck in that regard. I really need a sense of control, I think, and well... I guess that’s why it really is so much easier when it’s you, Kamukura-kun. It’s refreshing when it’s you—there’s always been something about you that I can’t put my finger on... Your presence is strangely soothing, I suppose, in a world like this.”

He trembles a bit, especially when Kamukura bites along his ear, especially after when he started tracing the reddened marks left behind with his tongue.

“I may not really  _mind_ ,” Komaeda inhales, breathes, and presses himself closer, fingers digging into that far too fancy suit, “going at it again after all, Kamukura-kun. You had stopped early.”

_Still on edge. This is supposed to be a brief reprieve._

He knows that at this point it’s just a habit out of desperation. Still.

“ _Relax_ , Nagito.”


End file.
